There is no pain greater than losing a child. It is one of life’s cruellest tragedies, and something no parent should ever have to endure. Yet, as technology continues to advance, there is a growing belief that it can somehow soften that awful grieving process. Through artificial intelligence (AI), the thoughts, voices, and personalities of a loved one can be recreated, offering families the illusion of one final conversation. The idea of using AI to process loss lies at the centre of Hirokazu Kore-eda’s Sheep in the Box. Unfortunately, for a film grappling with such a profoundly human and emotionally devastating subject, it fails to breathe life into that conversation or bring any true insight.
Set in the near future, Otone Komoto (Haruka Ayase, Our Little Sister), an architect, and her husband Kensuke Komoto (Diego Yamamoto, OUT), a construction worker, spend their days building and designing houses. They are, for the most part, content. But after the death of their son, Kakeru (Kuwaka Rimu), their lives are forever changed. To feel whole again, they decide to welcome a humanoid robot resembling their late son into their family.
Narratively speaking, Sheep in the Box brings nothing particularly new to the table. The idea of using technology to process grief has been explored many times before in projects such as The Shrouds, A.I., and Black Mirror. Those works examine both the healing and destructive potential of A.I. with nuance and sincerity—something Sheep in the Box in unable to achieve.
When we meet Otone and Kensuke, they are not in the immediate throes of grief. Their son died two years earlier, and for the most part, they have accepted his death and have begun to move on with their lives. Introducing a robotic version of Kakeru at this stage feels counterintuitive, as if the film is manufacturing a conflict that would have already passed. The decision and the timing never fully makes sense. Even Kensuke is initially opposed to the idea, yet they proceed anyway.
When the robotic version of their son is finally introduced, to both the couple and to audiences, the reunion is almost completely devoid of emotion. Outside of some technical awe and mild amusement, there is no depth to their reactions. There are no tears. There is no anger, no desperate longing, not even the complicated discomfort that such a reunion would inevitably bring. Instead of seeing their son, they seem to recognize a novel, sophisticated toy. A moment that should be mentally devastating barely registers. Even after their “new” son moves in with them, no old wounds are reopened, no buried emotions bubble to the surface. For a filmmaker known for his deeply empathetic and emotionally resonant work, here Kore-eda (Monster) delivers a film that feels emotionally stagnant.
The parents have already endured the worst of their grief, and the arrival of their robotic child never really forces them to confront it again. As a result, we never actually see these characters grieve or grow. They are given the opportunity to say the goodbye they have been holding onto for two years, but the major emotional moment feels unearned. We were never witnesses to what should be a hard-won journey to that final cathartic conversation.
On the plus side, the film boasts strong performances from its leads, its futuristic aesthetics feel tangible, and it has occasional moments of intrigue. But in the end, Sheep in the Box is little more than a lifeless imitation of stories we have seen told before. It borrows the premise without capturing its emotional weight, ethical complexity, or the underlying horror of what artificial intelligence can do to those consumed by grief. For a film about loss, memory, and saying goodbye, it unfortunately leaves no lasting impression at all.
Sheep in the Box premiered at the Cannes Film Festival in Competition and will arrive in select theatres on July 24.
